It has a poem in it that I wrote (along with other stuff, I'm sure) called The Ballad of Drunken Jack. It's about a ne'er-do-well who fails to understand the proper way to treat a young lady. She, however, gets the point across in the end.

This week's entry, which is a bit on the romantic side, is dedicated to Bethanne Strasser, my romance novelist blogger-buddy who has a new book coming out soon, and to Mary, the red-haired girl I knew so many years ago.

Dance Hall

Sandra stood silently by the door with the other girls who were talking about the boys that had asked them out. She tried not to let the hurt show through her feigned indifference; she was the girl who was never asked, never had any stories to tell, and always felt awkward with her blaze of hair, blotchy face, and crooked teeth. Mark paced along the other side of the hall, fidgeting with his backpack while watching a girl that seemed so beautifully different; she had soft, coppery curls that flowed so naturally around a face flecked with orange, and a slightly twisted tooth that made her lip stick out just enough to be cute. He waited until most of the others had started back to class before walking over and saying, "I—I was wondering if you'd like to go to the prom." Though the event was still some weeks away, with the reply of an imperfect smile, their hearts were already dancing.

What you say is true! Many of the physical characteristics that make girls attractive in their teens seem to work against them as they get older, and yet the plainer, more "average-looking" girl often ages so well. I don't completely understand why, but I have noticed that.